Smoke and Mirrors
by Verdot
Summary: Reeve picks up a bad habit, but learns a little about definitions in the meantime. Includes Cid and Vincent, follows the general "universe" of my other fics. One shot.


AN: I just had to write this. I think Reeve is terribly underrepresented in fanfiction. Any of you following Haphazard Composition... I'm not trying to delay it, really. Sometimes you have to step back from your work. This is set around the same time as the timeframe for Haphazard, and when he reminsces, about a year or so after Meteor.

* * *

Night. That time when the good people of the world sleep. The hazy lights of New Midgar surround me, giving the chill air extra vibrancy. I had put both my wrenches and papers away; the double life of my current existence could wait. 

So here I am, standing on the balcony smoking.

I never used to smoke. Reno did, but he can get away with it. It adds to his...charm, you could say. Perhaps the only classy thing about him; reminiscent of an old duotone film. Each one of them, Turks, had a certain class. But I don't want to think about them tonight.

I'm thinking about another night, when I picked up this nasty habit.

Negotiations had gone well that day, it looked like the construction of New Midgar would be moving along smoothly. Most of us were there: of AVALANCHE and of Shinra. Cloud had left early with Tifa, though not on the happiest of terms, judging by her strained expression. Yuffie and the remaining Turks were just on their way out, since happy hour was just beginning. Barret went home; Marlene was waiting. Nanaki... I didn't know where he was. Probably still in the building.

I was outside the conference room, on the porch, watching the newly darkened sky.

I didn't notice Vincent at first, he was always so quiet when he walked. It took Cid to alert me to his presence.

"Vince! Thought ya'd gotten away, huh?" he chuckled as he swaggered onto the porch, already searching for his next drag. I swung around, noticing the ominous shadow of Vincent Valentine, and the proud form of Cid Highwind. The pilot was smiling, the gunman... raised an eyebrow. I suppose that meant "hello".

"Almost didn't see ya there, Reeve," Cid continued, unaffected by Vincent's silence, "Nice night to be outside. Can see why ya slipped outta there."

"Yes, such a clear night too. It's a pity we're trying to build a city here. It's nice here in the country," I replied, and truthfully too. We were based in someone's old farmhouse, trying to scrape together a semblance of civilization. I knew that my former teammates and enemies would only help so much... the burden was left to me. I knew I would have to put my toys away, and take responsibility.

We had all fallen into silence, each enjoying the clear clean air in his own way.

Another flash of light twinkled in the corner of my vision. Cid had lit another cigarette, its thin smoke wafted near my nose, making it tingle with the promise of nicotine. For an odd second it tempted me, with the bittersweet scent that unfiltered tobacco brings.

"Ain't it damn funny? We've all been Shinra lackeys at one time or another. And the result? Vince is a walkin corpse," Cid winked good heartedly as he said this, "Reeve's a politician with a toy fetish, and well... me. You know what I am."

"The personification of lung cancer?" Vincent added, causing my jaw to unhinge itself. I never thought of Vincent as a person with... humor. But already the smile of a charlatan was creeping onto my face. The smile that Shinra had taught me how to use. Vincent's mouth twitched, indicating that I was now in on the joke. Cid was glaring, but soon softened upon seeing Vincent's crooked attempt at a smile.

"Hell Vince," he chuckled, "That's a start at humor. Ya still need more practice." Vincent shrugged.

"It is of no matter," he replied, settling back against the wall of the house, "Turks did not need social graces." Cid stopped smiling. I never heard Vincent talk much about his previous occupation. But he was on topic, I'll give him that.

"I don't think anyone can pin you down that easily, Cid," I said diplomatically. He chuckled again in response, crumpled cigarette bouncing from the corner of his mouth.

"Oh, the hell you can. I'm simply a pilot," he said with an aggressive plume of smoke, "I was that way when I was young, and I still am." I nodded, but felt something at the back of my mind. His innocent comment about our one time common employer soured in my head. Were we defined and molded so much by Shinra? Then what were we now?

"No, I don't think position can define us that much," I blurted out, regretting my input into this. These men were good, yes, but it didn't give me right to barge into their pasts. We each guarded something carefully, and it was carelessness like that the made things uncomfortable. Yet, that's not the reaction I got. Cid smirked and oddly enough Vincent had the shadow of a similar expression. I felt my face grow hot.

But they didn't push further.

Cid pulled out two cigarettes from his pack, slowly and deliberately, and held them out in front of him. Vincent raised an eyebrow. I probably looked even more idiotic than I felt.

"Wanna smoke? Helps the nerves," Cid said knowingly, his face that comic mixture of gruff sensibility and teenage like treachery. I got the impression he probably snuck cigarettes in high school, taking quick drags between classes. I wanted to laugh.

"Thank you," Vincent said, accepting the thin white stick with his spidery fingers. He pull a match from somewhere in his voluminous cloak, lighting it with a gracefully dangerous precision. The glow at the end matched his eyes for a moment. I never liked those eyes.

"Well?" Cid said, nudging the cigarette towards me, that same expression on his face. I hesitated, but soon found the cancer stick in my own hand. So small a thing, it was.

I never was one for peer pressure. That's how I became a Turk, a spy, and then secondary hero. I wanted to chuckle as Cid expertly lit the end for me. Another bad habit to add to my list.

I choked on the first inhale. And I laughed. As did Cid.

Vincent gave a ghost of a smile, the closest to human expression I'd seen out of him. I suddenly felt happy, with that first wave of nicotine buzzing through head. And it all made sense; what it really meant, I'll never know.

"Would you like to hear a story, Reeve?" Cid began, but now I was back in the present. The rest of the night would be something to muse over later.

I look at the cigarette clamped firmly between my fingers. Such a bad habit, but I know I won't quit. I think Cid's got it right, there's something that soothes the nerves about these things. Maybe it's the fact you're taking a little bit of death each time. But it's slow, seductive, and doesn't reek of blood. I hate the smell of blood.

The sky is still clear. The city's lights mirror the stars, holding some of the heavens to the earth. And this time, there are no towers. I stand in one of the highest buildings, at only three stories tall. Just tall enough to see the city; not tall enough to lord over it.

I still have my toys. Only this time, I can make the children laugh myself, without hiding behind them. I can do magic, something that Marlene and Samiel, Cid's son, in particular enjoy. Someday they'll figure out it's all smoke and mirrors, but not yet.

I still see them, Cid doesn't live too far away, and Vincent ghosts into town to visit Tifa every week. Now that Cid has a family, he's given up some of his more colorful language. Vincent has given up smoking, and brooding, for the most part.

I guess I've given up something too. It's strange no longer seeing in double. The truth is, you can be a clown and a politician. You just need to pick up a few new habits.

I've smoked this one down to a nub. I flick it over the side of the balcony, watching the ember go out with the darkness. Maybe now I can sleep.

So we're not so easily defined. I was right, after all.

* * *

Theme Song: _Reality_ David Bowie  



End file.
